duced to support it, places the
Bishop almost outside the pale of civil discussion. When will these
lordly ecclesiastics learn that the time for dogmatic assertion is past,
and that the intellectual temper of the present age can be satisfied
only by proof? We defy the Bishop of Carlisle to indicate a single
phase of man's nature which has no parallel in the lower animals. Man's
physical structure is notoriously akin to theirs, and even his brain
does not imply a distinction of kind, for every convolution of the brain
of man is reproduced in the brain of the higher apes. His lordship draws
a distinction between instinct and reason, which is purely fanciful and
evinces great ignorance of the subject. That, however, is a question we
have at present no room to discuss; nor, indeed, is there any necessity
to do so, since his lordship presently admits that the lower animals
share our "reason" to some extent, just as to a much larger extent we
share their "instinct," and thus evacuates the logical fortress he took
such pains to construct.

Quitting that ground, which proves too slippery for his feet, the Bishop
goes on to notice the moral and aesthetic difference between man and the
lower animals. No animal, says his lordship, shows "anything approaching
to a love of art." Now we are quite aware that no animal except man ever
painted a picture or chiselled a statue, for these things involve a very
high development of the artistic faculty. But the appreciation of
form and color, which is the foundation of all fine art, is certainly
manifested by the lower animals, and by some fathem to an extreme
degree. If his lordship doubts this, let him study the ways of animals
for himself; or, if he cannot do that, let him read the chapters in Mr.
Darwin's "Descent of Man" on sexual selection among birds. If he retains
any doubt after that, we must conclude that his head is too hard or too
soft to be influenced, in either of which cases he is much to be pitied.

His lordship thinks that the moral sense is entirely absent in the lower
animals. This, however, is absurdly untrue; so much so, indeed, that
we shall not trouble to refute it _Good_ and _noble_, he avers, are
epithets inapplicable to animals, even to the horse or dog. What vain
creatures men are to talk thus! Does his lordship remember Byron's
epitaph on his Newfoundland dog, and the very uncomplimentary
distinction drawn therein between dogs and men? Look at that big
pet with t